Growing Back Together
by pleasedonteatme
Summary: POST MOCKINGJAY. "Peeta and I grow back together. ... But his arms are there to comfort me". A oneshot of when Peeta's arms are there to comfort her for the first time since their return to District 12.


"_Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me._" –**Mockingjay**

Peeta lingered behind when the door closed behind Greasy Sae. He had been lingering around lately- to make last minute additions to the book. I moved to get the book on the top of the mantle before going to join him on the couch, a part of the routine we had grown to be accustomed. Just like dinner with Greasy Sae, her granddaughter, and Haymitch.

I sat next to him, our legs barely touching. It had been easy to grow closer together, yet so difficult at the same time. It was a joint effort for us to spend much time together alone, again. An unspoken, joint effort. At this point, most everything was unspoken.

The book was heavy in my lap. So much writing in the time span of a couple months should have felt like an accomplishment but this was far from an accomplishment. Every page added a death. A heavy book indicated a heavy amount of deaths. There was no accomplishment in dying, even for a cause. The heavy feeling in my chest came about in an all too familiar way. _I should be dead. Not all these people._

Peeta took it from me. His hands glided across the cover, the scars fading but still apparent. After a bit, he opened the book to a random page. Rue.

Everything always came back to her. She crossed my mind at least 3 times every day. _She was young and taken away too soon_. The written text says. His hands brush the sketch he drew of her- the same one he painted on the floor of the Training Room in rebellion. I needed to look away before the scene would play in my head. My eyes caught the fire in the fireplace. I was always on fire.

Peeta was up and putting the book back in its impermanent spot. His eyes caught mine, caring. "Are you alright?" We both know the answer to that. Neither of us is alright- and we probably wouldn't be for quite some time.

He holds out his hand, bringing me to my feet, and then wraps his arms around me. It had been a long time. It felt different, not familiar, but it felt necessary also. It was as if his arms holding me were literally holding me together.

There was no camera- there wouldn't be any more cameras. It was just us; something I would have to learn to get used to. The house was empty, it was just us, and I wanted him to hold me together for a long time.

I remembered before the Quarter Quell. "No nightmares…" He had told me. With him, they seemed less crazy. I needed him to subtle them down.

I pulled back from his hold, keeping his eyes. No words. There was no need. When I took his hands in mine, he shook his head slowly. It didn't work. "Please."

He shook his head more frantically. "I could hurt you." He was scared of the time where he snapped at our group on our way to the capital. It hadn't occurred to me.

"You won't," I told him, holding one hand and walking ahead of him to the stairs. He followed reluctantly.

He let go of my hand when we reached the bedroom and stood in the doorway. He hadn't slept with me in this bed before. We were only together in the one on the train that had probably been blown up by now and the sleeping bag which had probably been left to decay in the old arena. I shook my head. Memories.

Pulling the covers back, I sat up in the middle of the cold bed. He remained in the doorway, not leaving and not advancing. "Katniss."

"Peeta." I sighed and moved out of the bed to walk over to him. With a simple grab of the wrist and a pull toward the bed, he followed numbly, his prosthetic leg dragging. He stopped again at the edge, so I sat near the edge too. "Please," I begged. I was tired, I needed to sleep. I needed to _really_ sleep. Just by blinking, I saw flashes of the explosion under droopy eyelids. The flicker of a white rose. "Please, Peeta."

"I might hurt you…"

"I don't care." I grabbed his arm and pulled him to lie down on the bed next to me.

He laid a forearm's length away, not touching me. I moved to drape the blanket over to two of us, enveloping the warmth. Yawning, my eyes drooped again bringing an image of an innocent young girl with a spear through her.

I moved to inch closer to him and I grabbed his arms for a fourth time and moved to wrap his arm around me- like it had been five minutes ago. He resisted and it took me aback. He didn't shake off my hold. "I'll hurt you."

"No," I whispered, pressing my tired head to rest against the base of his neck. He held both my hands between our bodies.

"Yes," he replied. He let out a long breath before placing a hand on the side of my head. My heart raced but I wasn't scared. He pulled my head back to look at him. I blinked tiredly. His fingers slowly drifted from the spot by my ear down my cheek, along my chin, and down to graze at my neck. "I hurt you here. I tried to strangle you," his voice was shaky. "Real or not real."

And there it was. "Real." He could, might, and probably would hurt me. He was right. But what more damage would one night of holding do? I had been hurt _more than enough_ in the span of three years. In the span of one year even. What harm could he do?

I wrapped my arms around him and pulled myself as close as I could. He brought warmth, the sort we both so desperately needed at one time. The kind I sort of needed right now. The fire I had was hot to the touch, so hot it was cold.

After awhile of drifting between sleep and awake, his arms moved to envelope me as well. His face pressed into the top of my hair and I could feel his breathe against my scalp. And then, I was able to drift off into a peaceful, worry free, dream.


End file.
